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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669503">Encouragement and Overdue Diagnosis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemechanicalalligator/pseuds/onemechanicalalligator'>onemechanicalalligator</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jeff Winger is Bipolar [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Community (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bipolar Disorder, Boys In Love, Friendship, Healing, Hospitalization, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:35:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669503</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemechanicalalligator/pseuds/onemechanicalalligator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff and Abed navigate Jeff's hospitalization and subsequent diagnosis of bipolar disorder.</p><p>Please be sure to read the tags and stay safe &lt;3</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abed Nadir/Jeff Winger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jeff Winger is Bipolar [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Encouragement and Overdue Diagnosis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aw_writing_no/gifts">aw_writing_no</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>an·a·lep·sis</b>
</p><p>/ˌanəˈlepsəs/</p><p>
  <em> noun </em>
</p>
<ol>
<li>A literary device in narrative, in which a past event is narrated at a point later than its chronological place in a story.<br/>
<br/>
</li>
<li>A flashback, in literature</li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <b>one: crisis. </b>
</p><p>Abed is in the parking lot sitting sideways in the driver’s seat of the car. The door is open, both his feet on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. His head is in his hands. He wishes he had a cigarette.</p><p>Not to smoke. Abed’s never smoked and doesn’t plan to, especially not in such close proximity to a hospital. This just feels like the moment in a movie when the supporting character sighs and takes a deep drag and wonders what the hell just happened. </p><p>And that’s exactly what Abed is wondering as he watches the sun come up, realizing he’s been here for seven hours. He wonders if Jeff can see the sunrise. If Jeff has a window to look out of. If Jeff is even still awake. </p><p>He kind of hopes he isn’t. It’s been a long night.</p><p>It’s called the <em> behavioral health annex, </em> and Abed is pretty sure it’s a kind of holding cell to keep people until there’s room for them in the actual psychiatric unit. The past seven hours were spent just getting Jeff into the annex from the emergency room, and no one could tell them how long this next stage could take. How long he would have to wait. They could only tell them that Abed wasn’t allowed to be there, and he might as well go home now.</p><p>Abed doesn’t want to go home. He’s been sitting in the car like this for fifteen minutes. Their LA apartment, the one they’ve lived in for two years now, isn’t huge -- but it sure feels that way when he’s there all alone. Also, every time Abed thinks about going home, he thinks about the last time he was there. </p><p>It was seven hours ago but it feels like seven years, remembering the way Jeff locked himself in the bathroom with a fifth of scotch and a box of double edged razor blades, the way Abed had to kick down the door to get to him. </p><p>Remembering the wild, haunted look on Jeff’s face. The way he would switch between crying uncontrollably and then going completely blank, almost mimicking Abed’s own expression. The rapid movement of his eyes that served as proof that he was even alive at all. </p><p>Remembering the way Abed had to beg him to come to the hospital, had to threaten to call an ambulance if Jeff wouldn’t comply. The way Jeff wouldn’t speak to him the entire drive there, not until they were finally in the emergency room, when Abed said, <em> I’m afraid he’s a danger to himself, </em> and Jeff said, <em> Fuck you, Abed. </em> </p><p>Remembering the way Jeff apologized a little while later, crying so hard he couldn’t breathe, and the nurse had to come and add something to his IV to calm him down. The way Abed barely recognized him by that point, even though he’s seen Jeff cry before. He’s seen Jeff drunk before. He’s seen Jeff <em> sad </em>before.</p><p>Remembering the way they threatened to restrain him if he couldn’t calm down, if he kept trying to get up and leave, if he kept rattling the bars on the sides of his bed. If he kept trying to pull the IV line out of his arm. The way that made Jeff cry harder. The way Abed held his hand and <em> shh </em>-ed him softly, tried to help him relax.</p><p>Abed knows this is more than alcoholism. </p><p>He remembers a conversation with Jeff from a long time ago. He’s wanted to bring it up, even since before they left Greendale, but he never quite knew how, and every time he got close, Jeff would change the subject. </p><p>Jeff is a <em> pro </em> at changing the subject.</p><p>At a point, Abed kind of just started hoping it would resolve itself, that the change of scenery when they moved to California would do Jeff good, and eventually it would all just be an annoying memory.</p><p>He was wrong, obviously, and he should have known that. Should have been more realistic. Now they’re at the hospital and everything is bad and terrifying and it’s impossible to ignore.</p><p>Abed pulls out his phone and brings up Troy’s number. Troy is the next closest person to this situation, Abed thinks, because he comes and visits the most. He’s seen Jeff the most recently, aside from Abed. The guest room in their apartment could practically be called Troy’s room, because he’s stayed in it probably six times in the two years that Jeff and Abed have lived out here, and Troy has only been back from sailing for a year.</p><p>Eventually, everyone will probably need to know -- the whole study group. Their family. But right now, that’s too much. Right now, if anyone will understand, it’s Troy. </p><p>Abed hits <em> send </em> on the call.</p><p>“Abed?” comes Troy’s voice after only two rings. He sounds sleepy and panicked at the same time. Abed never calls him this early, or without sending a text first. “It’s six in the morning. Are you okay?”</p><p>Abed opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He clears his throat, so Troy knows he’s there, he just needs a minute. He tries to will the words into his mouth.</p><p>“Hi Troy,” he finally says, his voice tired and strained. “I… No. I’m not okay.” Just saying those words releases something in him, and he lets out a deep breath. “I’m at the hospital with Jeff. Well, I’m not <em> with </em> Jeff. I took Jeff to the hospital. They took him away. Now I’m in the parking lot.”</p><p>“Do you need me to come out there?” Troy asks, before he even asks what’s going on, or if Jeff is okay.</p><p>“Please,” Abed says, his voice breaking as the first tears start to run down his cheeks. “Please, could you come?”</p><p>“I’m already looking at flights, buddy,” Troy says, and Abed can hear the sound of him typing in the background.</p><p>“He, um,” Abed says, because he wants Troy to know what to expect. “It’s the drinking, and some… some other stuff. I had to… I couldn’t…” He can’t finish. He takes a ragged breath.</p><p>“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Troy says, using his soothing voice, his meltdown voice. “Everything is going to be okay.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Abed says, trying to sound like he agrees.</p><p>He knows he doesn’t sound confident.</p><p>He doesn’t feel confident, either.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>analepsis: cycle. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s been happening since he was a teenager.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Everything is excellent, and then suddenly it’s not.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s a feeling that Jeff pushes completely away every single time, the feeling that always follows one of these sprees, the darkness that comes once the dawn is good and exhausted.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Suddenly, Jeff wants to die. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It happens fast.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One minute he doesn’t need sleep, and the next minute he does.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He needs all of it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s more tired than he can ever remember being in his entire life, and the cruel joke of it is that he still can’t rest.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His schedule has stayed exactly the same, only where three days ago he could get by on an hour or two of sleep a night, now he feels every second that he’s missing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He feels it in his body, in his mind, in his bones.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He feels it in his heart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Before, the air was shimmery with color, and sunsets made him want to cry, and music was an overwhelming experience, every song teaching him something new and beautiful.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That was before, and now everything is bleak and grey, the color has literally been sucked out of the world around him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t know how it’s possible, and it doesn’t seem right, but it doesn’t matter if it should be that way or if it can be that way, it is that way, and he’s pretty well convinced that it will be forever. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He knows this feeling, but it’s different this time. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s something unfamiliar, and he doesn’t know how to handle that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He can think of exactly two solutions to this problem.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Two ways to get through it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One of them is to drink. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>two: response. </b>
</p><p>Troy is there that same day, before Abed can even really fill him in what’s going on. It’s one of the perks of Troy being a multi-millionaire, and Abed’s never been more grateful, and he begrudgingly thanks Pierce in his mind. </p><p>He thinks it’s possible that Troy somehow already knows what’s happened, at least to some degree. He knows how to read between the lines, even if a lot of people think he’s oblivious. And he cares about Jeff deeply. </p><p>Abed leaves the door to the apartment unlocked when he gets home from the hospital, and he goes to bed. The show he’s working on is on hiatus, and he’s left a message at the community college where Jeff now teaches to let them know he’ll be out indefinitely on medical leave. It doesn’t feel like there’s much else to do except try to sleep, try to forget, try not to think about it, if only for a little while.</p><p>When Troy arrives, Abed is in bed, but he’s awake. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Jeff’s eyes, his crazy eyes, darting back and forth. Abed doesn’t really recognize those eyes, and that scares him.</p><p>He hears the Uber pull up outside the apartment, hears the door slam and Troy’s voice thanking the driver. He listens for Troy’s steps coming up the stairs, the sound of him knocking, the twisting of the doorknob as he checks to see if it’s unlocked.</p><p>“Abed?” Troy calls, opening the door. </p><p>It’s 3pm. Abed hasn’t heard anything from the hospital yet. He wants to jump out of his skin, he’s so anxious. He just wants to know what’s happening. Wants to know that Jeff is okay. Wants to know that Jeff still loves him. That he forgives him for what he’s done.</p><p>He gets none of that, just a phone that rings every hour with another spam call, because he had to disable the blocker to let any potential hospital calls come through.</p><p>“In here,” Abed calls, and Troy dashes in, dropping his bag on the floor and kicking his shoes off. He sits down on the bed and pulls Abed into a hug. Abed catches a glimpse of the look on Troy’s face and figures he must not look much better than Jeff did when Abed left him. It makes sense. Abed hasn’t eaten for almost 24 hours and hasn’t slept for longer than that.</p><p>“Hey, buddy,” Troy says softly into Abed’s ear. “Want to tell me what happened?”</p><p>With his voice shaking, Abed recounts the scene to Troy. </p><p>Abed telling Jeff how worried he was by Jeff’s behavior. Jeff drinking scotch straight from the bottle. </p><p>Abed begging Jeff to get help. Jeff locking himself in the bathroom. </p><p>Abed realizing the razors were in the bathroom, too. Jeff refusing to respond to Abed’s questions. </p><p>Abed begging Jeff to come out. Jeff refusing to respond to anything. </p><p>Abed threatening to call 911. Jeff screaming at him not to. </p><p>Abed begging. Jeff crying. </p><p>Abed breaking the door down to get to Jeff. Jeff hollering incoherently. </p><p>Abed dragging Jeff to the car. Jeff falling silent when he really got a look at Abed’s face. </p><p>Abed spending seven hours sitting next to Jeff’s bed in the emergency room while words like “detox” and “treatment” and “behavioral health” and “locked unit” got thrown around by various doctors and nurses. Jeff refusing all of it until Abed burst into tears and begged him, told him how scared he was of losing him, how much he loved him. </p><p>Abed being more vulnerable than he’d maybe ever been in his entire life. Jeff finally agreeing to get help. </p><p>Abed kissing him goodbye. Jeff being wheeled away to the annex. </p><p>And then silence.</p><p>He tells Troy that this has been going on for a while, but that this time was different from the other times. That he’s seen a lot of different versions of Jeff over the last few years, but this was a new one, and the worst one. That he’s never been so scared in his life.</p><p>And Troy doesn’t ask him why he never said anything, why he never reached out to any of their friends. He doesn’t make Abed feel guilty for anything he did or didn’t do. He doesn’t try to make Abed explain more than he wants to, or justify any of his actions. He just listens, lets Abed talk and vent and shake and blink and stop a bunch of times to catch his breath, to find his words. Troy is kind and nurturing and safe in a way that only Troy knows how to be, because it comes naturally to him. Because he is good, such a good friend to Abed, and Abed has never needed him so much.</p><p>Troy calls the hospital to try to get answers. Abed doesn’t know what he says, but suddenly Troy is shoving the phone to his ear and a nurse is saying that Jeff spent nine hours in the annex and a bed has just opened up for him in the behavioral health unit. Abed can come visit him that evening at 7pm. He’s allowed to bring clothes for Jeff, just nothing with strings or metal. Abed thanks her and says he’ll be there.</p><p>He crawls back into bed, curls up in a fetal position, and Troy sits next to him and rubs his back. Abed tries to take a real nap, to get some real rest, but he can’t make his brain quiet down. He can’t stop thinking about Jeff.</p><p>When Abed doesn’t fall asleep right away, Troy goes to the kitchen. He brings Abed some food: bread, cheese, a bunch of grapes, a glass of water. Easy food. Abed isn’t hungry, but he knows he needs to eat, especially if he’s going to manage to visit Jeff later. So he accepts Troy’s offering. When he’s finished, Troy tells him to get some rest. He promises to wake him in time to pack Jeff’s things and drive to the hospital.</p><p>Only then does Abed finally fall asleep.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>analepsis: diagnosis. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff is working as a lawyer the first time a psychiatrist tries to diagnose him with bipolar disorder. He doesn’t even want to see the psychiatrist in the first place, because shrinks are arrogant hacks who are just trying to take his money, but his boss insists after Jeff snaps and screams at a juror during voir dire.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The psychiatrist he goes to is an older gentleman in a tweed coat with leather patches on the elbows. Jeff hates him immediately, but figures if he more or less tells the truth, the doctor will pronounce him sane and he can go back to work. He might have to take an anger management class or something, but he can deal with that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This doctor is thorough, though, asking Jeff questions that go back his whole life, and talking in a soothing tone that makes Jeff admit things without meaning to. He tells the doctor about the times when he can’t pull himself out of bed in the morning, the endless weeks or months where he wants nothing more than to die, or at least just sleep forever. When he feels empty and broken and terrified. When he isolates himself from everyone else in his life because the thought of them seeing him like that is unbearable, and the thought of him seeing them is excruciating. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tries to compensate by explaining to the doctor that sometimes he’s absolutely fine, that his default is actually better than fine. That in addition to the sad times, there are times when he feels like he’s finally waking up and he knows he’s all better, and everything looks a little brighter, and he seems to have more than caught up on sleep, because now he can get by on just a few hours a night and not even feel tired. These are the times when he’s unbelievably confident and productive, when he’s healthy and well-adjusted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When they finish their conversation, the doctor asks Jeff if he knows anything about bipolar disorder, and Jeff shuts down. The doctor starts to describe the symptoms, and Jeff stands up. The doctor starts to mention the things Jeff said in their session, and Jeff walks out of the room and doesn’t look back. He crafts an elaborate lie to get his boss off his back, and it works, because a signature from a doctor and a certificate of completion from an anger management class are even easier to forge than a college diploma. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff pretends the appointment never happened.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He never says the word “bipolar” out loud to anyone. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>three: visit. </b>
</p><p>“Are you going to tell the others?” Troy asks, once Abed has eaten and napped and showered. Now they’re just killing time until Abed can go see Jeff. </p><p>“I feel like I should,” Abed says. “I’d want to know if I were them. But I don’t really know what to tell them. Maybe I should call after I see Jeff, or tomorrow. When I have a better idea of what’s happening.”</p><p>“That’s fair,” Troy says. “Here’s a proposal though. We tell Annie now. I feel like she might want to come out here, too. I mean, if it’s okay with you.”</p><p>“You already told her, didn’t you?” Abed asks. “Did she already buy a ticket?”</p><p>Troy grins sheepishly. “She was working on it when I talked to her last. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t betray your trust or anything, I just… I was kind of freaking out after you called me, and I needed to talk to someone.”</p><p>“No, no, it’s okay,” Abed assures him. He and Troy and Annie have a special relationship. They have ever since they lived together. Of course Troy would call Annie right away. “Is she going to stay here, though? We don’t have much room…”</p><p>“She can share my bed in the guest room,” Troy says. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing scandalous about a gay man and a lesbian sharing a mattress.”</p><p>“Even if there were, what you do is your business,” Abed jokes. “That’s fine, though. That’s good, actually. I feel like I haven’t seen Annie in forever...”</p><p>They make up the guest bed and pack a bag for Jeff with some sweats and pajamas -- clothes he wouldn’t be caught dead in out in public, but Abed is going for maximum comfort and hopes Jeff will appreciate that. </p><p>They watch TV until it’s time for Abed to head to the hospital. They’ve been texting Annie, and her flight is getting in later in the evening. They will pick her up after Abed’s visit with Jeff, and Troy will stay at the apartment in the meantime.</p><p>When Abed gets to the hospital, he has to find his way through the labyrinth that is the Behavioral Health Center, taking three different elevators to get to Jeff’s unit. Once he gets there, he has to surrender his wallet, keys, and cell phone to be locked in a safe before he can go inside. He barely notices any of this, though. All he can think about is Jeff.</p><p>Jeff doesn’t look great, but at least he’s not angry. Abed can’t tell if he’s slept since they last saw each other, but if he did, it wasn’t much. It’s weird to see him in a hospital gown and scrub pants, which are too short for him and barely reach his ankles. They’ve taken his shoes, too, and he’s wearing brown hospital socks. He’s still hooked up to an IV, which he pulls along with him on wheels.</p><p>“Hey,” Abed says as they sit down in a small meeting room. “I, um, brought you some clothes. I gave them to the nurse.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Jeff says, his voice raspy and tired.</p><p>“Are you… I mean…” Abed pauses. “How’s it going?” he finally asks.</p><p>Jeff shrugs. “I hate it here.”</p><p>“Oh.” Abed feels his heart sink, and he wonders if Jeff is still mad at him after all, even if he doesn’t look it.</p><p>“I, uh, can also recognize that this is where I need to be right now,” Jeff adds, looking Abed in the eye. “And I’m sorry for what I put you through.”</p><p>“You don’t have to apologize,” Abed says. “You’re sick.”</p><p>Jeff nods. </p><p>“Is that, um, making you better?” Abed asks, tilting his head at the IV. “I mean, not completely better, but…”</p><p>“It’s a detox thing,” Jeff says. Abed nods.</p><p>“Troy’s in town,” he blurts out. “I called him from the parking lot after they took you to the annex.”</p><p>“Fucking annex,” Jeff groans. “There were like 5 other people in there with me, and they were watching this fake documentary about mermaids or some shit, only everyone thought it was real. It’s like they’re <em> trying </em> to make people crazy.”</p><p>Abed stifles a laugh. “At least you’re out of there, then,”  he says. “Is it any better in here?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jeff says. “It’s not where I want to be, obviously, but it’s definitely better than anywhere else I’ve been so far. So...that’s good, I guess. When did Troy get here?”</p><p>“This afternoon. And Annie’s coming tonight. Troy invited her.”</p><p>“Does everybody know about...<em> this?” </em> Jeff asks, gesturing vaguely.</p><p>“I haven’t told anyone but Troy,” Abed says. “But I thought I might bring them in the loop after seeing you, once I had a better idea what was going on.”</p><p>“I don’t mind if you tell everyone, I guess,” Jeff says. “They would probably all see this as a good thing anyway.”</p><p>“Definitely,” says Abed. “And it, um, helps me. To have people to talk to.” He pauses for a moment and chews on his lower lip. “Do they have a plan for you yet? Do you know how long you’ll be here?”</p><p>“If I get my way, a couple of days,” Jeff says. “If they get their way...a week or two. Maybe three? It depends on how things go, I guess.”</p><p>“Jeff…” Abed trails off, trying to think of how to say what he wants to say. He’s afraid of it coming out wrong. “Jeff, I love you, and I miss you already, and I think if you need to be here for a few weeks, that’s how long you should be here.”</p><p>Jeff is silent.</p><p>“You scared me,” Abed says quietly. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been as scared as I was when you locked that door. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure you’d come out again. At all.”</p><p>Abed doesn’t like to cry. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he hates it, and then all of a sudden Jeff is there, crouching over him and holding him tightly with one arm, the other tangled in the IV line. It’s not what Abed expected, and he’s overwhelmed, and he starts to cry for real, his face pressed up against Jeff’s hospital gown. </p><p>It’s weird to be held by Jeff when he doesn’t smell like Jeff -- he kind of doesn’t even feel like Jeff. The fabric of the gown doesn’t smell like their laundry detergent, and Jeff has washed his hair with different shampoo. The fabric of the gown is stiffer than regular clothes somehow. And Jeff is shaking a little bit. </p><p>The whole situation just feels wrong, and yet he still finds comfort knowing he’s finally <em> with Jeff, </em>Jeff is holding him, they are both here and they are both safe, at least at this very minute.</p><p>“I love you,” Jeff says. “I’m going to get better for you. I promise.”</p><p>Abed can’t speak. He nods, though, and squeezes Jeff tighter. Before they pull apart, he kisses Jeff’s collarbone, his favorite spot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>analepsis: medicated. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Abed is the only one in the study group who notices, because of course he does. </em>
</p><p><em> Jeff has spent the last two hours trying to keep it together, to stay in the moment, to seem like everything’s fine so that no one will ask him what’s going on. He doesn’t think he’s doing a particularly good job, except no one </em> does <em> ask him what’s going on, not until everyone has left and Abed stays behind, perched on the table, legs criss-crossed in front of him, watching Jeff pack up his stuff. </em></p><p>
  <em> “Are you okay?” he asks, and Jeff cringes. He doesn’t want compassion. Doesn’t deserve it, really. He should be better at dealing with this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m fine, Abed,” Jeff mutters, and continues shoving books into his bag. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” Abed says. “You just seem really out of it today. I was worried.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff doesn’t mean to ask, it just kind of slips out. He can’t fathom why Abed would care. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Because we’re friends,” Abed says simply. After a pause, he adds: “Maybe more than that, too?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t particularly want to explain that after several years, he finally decided to go see another psychiatrist, and that psychiatrist diagnosed him with bipolar disorder just like the other one did, and started him on a new medication, and it’s kicking his ass.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His brain is foggy and he can’t see straight. He keeps almost falling asleep, and he feels disconnected from his body. The doctor warned him of this, and Jeff didn’t really take it seriously. Now he wonders how on earth this could possibly be good for him. </em>
</p><p><em> Maybe that’s all information that Abed deserves to have. Maybe </em> someone should <em> know what’s going on with him, how he’s feeling and why he’s feeling that way, and maybe that someone should be his maybe-almost-boyfriend. Jeff doesn’t know the rules for situations like these. </em></p><p>
  <em> “It’s just a medication thing,” Jeff says. He hopes that will be enough, and Abed won’t ask about it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Abed asks him about it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Is it something new?” he asks. “Do you want to talk about it?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Not really,” Jeff says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is it mental health related?” Abed tilts his head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Kind of. How did you know?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Abed shrugs. “Do you have a diagnosis, Jeff? Is this something you're familiar with?"  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff doesn't know how to answer. He doesn't know what the truth is, and he doesn't know how much to share with Abed. He hates this.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Technically, I guess I maybe have a diagnosis," Jeff admits. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Would you like to share with the class?" Abed asks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It doesn’t matter,” Jeff grumbles. “I doubt it’s accurate.” </em>
</p><p><em> "Do you </em> really <em> doubt that it's accurate, or do you just not </em> want <em> it to be accurate?"  </em></p><p>
  <em> Jeff shrugs.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll see you later, Abed,” he says, and stalks out of the room. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stops taking the medication the next day. He and Abed never talk about it again. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>four: friendship. </b>
</p><p>Troy and Abed drive to the airport together to get Annie, and Abed tells Troy about his visit with Jeff. It’s weird having this conversation when 48 hours ago they were video chatting about the new <em> Kickpuncher, </em> like that was the most important thing in the world. <em> Although, to be fair, </em> Abed thinks. <em> Part of your mind was on Jeff even then. He hasn’t been okay for a while. </em></p><p>“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells Troy, keeping his eyes on the road. It makes it easier to be honest. “I’ve been feeling really alone with all of this for a long time.”</p><p>“You know you can always talk to me,” Troy says. “About anything.”</p><p>“I know,” Abed says. “But this was Jeff’s business too, and it didn’t seem right to…” He pauses. “Next time, I’ll talk to you.”</p><p>“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Troy says carefully.</p><p>Abed nods, but he’s known Jeff for years now. He knows this is cyclical, and it always comes back. He doesn’t know what it is yet, and maybe they’ll be lucky and it can be fixed. But Abed’s not holding his breath, even if that makes him a bad boyfriend. He’s reached a point where he has to be realistic.</p><p>Annie shows up right on time, and Abed helps her put her bag in the trunk. Then she throws her arms around him and holds him tight.</p><p>“How are you doing?” she asks. “Are you holding up okay?”</p><p>“I’m all right, I think,” Abed says. “But don’t you want to know about how Jeff is doing?”</p><p>“Of course I do,” Annie says. “But right now, I’m asking about you.”</p><p>They get in the car, and Abed waits until he gets on the freeway before elaborating on how he’s doing. In the meantime, he focuses all his attention on the road, and Troy and Annie catch up a little.</p><p>“I feel out of my depth,” Abed finally says, when there’s a lull in the conversation and he’s feeling sufficiently grounded. “I have no idea what’s happening, or what’s going to happen, and it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. And at the same time, I feel like I should have seen this coming.”</p><p>“Why do you say that?” asks Troy. “Has he done this before?”</p><p>“I don’t know, kind of?” Abed says. “You remember how Jeff always was. Sometimes he was fine, and sometimes he was kind of crazy, and sometimes he was really sad, and sometimes he was drunk. I feel like he’s always just kind of cycled through those states. And this time the bad cycle happened to be much worse than the others. It was...different, somehow.”</p><p>“Has he struggled a lot since you moved to LA?” Annie asks. “Were you worried about him before?”</p><p>“He’s struggled some,” Abed admits. “I was kind of trying to pretend things weren’t as bad as they were. I think we both were doing that. But there was this time, not long after we moved, when I found him…” Abed swallows and pauses, tries to regain his composure. He can feel himself getting panicky. “I found him hurting himself,” he finally says.</p><p>“Oh, Abed,” Annie says softly. “Was he… I mean… Had he done that before? Without you knowing?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Abed says flatly. “And I kind of did know, and I ignored that, too. But Jeff and I have been sleeping together for years. I’ve seen every part of him, including his scars. I asked him about them once, and he changed the subject, and I never asked again. I should have asked again.”</p><p>“Don’t blame yourself, buddy,” Troy says. “Jeff changed the subject for a reason. He didn’t tell you about this for a reason. Maybe he was trying to protect you. Or maybe he was embarrassed.”</p><p>“Maybe he was trying to pretend nothing was wrong,” Abed says bitterly. “He always tries to pretend nothing’s wrong, even when <em> everything </em> is wrong.”</p><p>“It seems like maybe he won’t be able to do that anymore,” Annie says. “Not after this. This is kind of a big deal, isn’t it? How was he when you saw him?”</p><p>“Weird,” Abed says. “Apologetic. He wants to go home, and the doctors want him to stay, and I told him I agreed with the doctors.”</p><p>“What did he say to that?” Troy asks.</p><p>“He promised me he would get better for me,” Abed replies, his voice ragged. He exits the freeway and pulls over on the side of the road as soon as he finds a safe spot. “Can someone else drive?”</p><p>Troy programs Abed’s address into his GPS and gets behind the wheel, and Abed gets in the back seat with Annie, and she holds him as he cries, and Abed has never cried so much in his life, and it’s exhausting. He drifts off to sleep with his head on Annie’s shoulder, and when he wakes up they’re pulling up outside his apartment. </p><p>Troy takes Annie’s bag and Annie holds Abed’s hand, makes sure he’s okay getting up the steps, because he’s still pretty sleepy and wobbly. They put her bag in Troy’s room and then continue to Jeff and Abed’s room.</p><p>Abed changes into his pajamas and gets in bed, and Troy and Annie change into theirs, too, and meet him in his bedroom. They sit on the bed with him and talk to him, catching him up on their lives and jobs and all kinds of things. Things that aren’t Jeff, or Abed, or Jeff and Abed. They talk him to sleep, and he doesn’t remember his dreams.</p><p>In the morning, they get Britta, Shirley, Frankie, Craig, and even Chang on a Zoom call and tell them what’s going on with Jeff. Britta, surprisingly, does not offer her services as a therapist. She seems to have learned, now that she’s a <em> real </em> therapist, that she shouldn’t practice on her friends. Instead, she offers a shoulder to cry on, should anyone ever need it. Shirley promises to pray for him, and Frankie sends positive thoughts. </p><p>Craig looks crestfallen and tells Abed he’s here if there’s anything he or Jeff need, and Abed has never heard him sound quite so sincere. Chang sends good wishes, too, and they’re very genuine. He’s been working on his own mental health stuff lately.</p><p>After the Zoom call, Troy and Annie clean up Abed’s bathroom. He hasn’t been in there since the night he took Jeff to the emergency room, opting to use the guest bathroom instead. </p><p>He doesn’t go in now, but he can picture the scene:</p><p>The glass all over the floor, where Jeff had smashed the empty bottle of scotch. </p><p>The box of double-edged razors dumped out on the counter and scattered everywhere, most with their little cardboard sheaths still on. </p><p>A few unsheathed. </p><p>One on the floor.</p><p>The ghost of Jeff sitting there, crying, crying, crying. </p><p>Begging Abed to <em> just leave him alone. </em> </p><p>And then later, completely silent. </p><p>The splinters of wood on the doorframe where Abed broke it to get in. </p><p>The spots of blood on the tile from Jeff’s feet when he walked on the broken glass.</p><p>The other spots of blood. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>analepsis: harm. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff is in 7th grade the first time he cuts himself on purpose. It's an easy way to get sympathy from his friends, to feel like someone cares. To get what he isn't getting at home.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It feels good.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It feels good, and that's why he keeps doing it. That's why he spends the next 30 years seeking out sharp things, keeping them in a box under his bed and, later, in a safe underneath his sink. That's why he's self conscious about his stomach and hips and thighs, the tops and sides of his feet, where the scars just keep adding up.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That's why, at age 42, when things feel out of control, Jeff stops at CVS on his way home from work and uses the self check-out to buy a handle of scotch and a box of razor blades. That's why he locks himself in the bathroom with them a few nights later.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He and Abed have never discussed it, but he knows that Abed knows. Has known for a long time. The first few times he and Abed slept together, Abed didn't comment on his scars, and Jeff wondered if he'd even noticed. Jeff wondered what he would even say, if Abed were to bring it up. If he would tell the truth.  </em>
</p><p><em> And then one night Abed </em> did <em> bring it up, when they were laying naked in Jeff's bed after sex, and Abed ran his fingers across the some of the white lines decorating Jeff's hip bone. He asked Jeff if he wanted to talk about it. </em></p><p><em> And Jeff was surprised to find that he </em> did <em> want to talk about it with Abed, he wanted to tell him the truth, and he didn't even know why. He'd never told anyone the truth before. But something about Abed was different.  </em></p><p>
  <em> He thought about what to say, and how to say it. He planned it out in his head, the way he would explain, the way Abed might be willing to try to understand. Jeff knew Abed had darkness in his own past, too.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff opened his mouth to speak, the words all ready to go. Only instead of saying them, he said, "Would you like a glass of water?" and got up and walked to the kitchen, and then he panicked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And he never tried to explain to Abed again after that, never managed to get up the nerve, and Abed never asked.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tried to stop after that, once the thing with Abed grew serious. To be honest, he mostly just didn't want to have to try to address it with Abed again. The problem was that the more he tried to stop cutting himself, the more he would replace that coping skill with drinking. And that didn't seem so healthy, either. He didn’t like the way he was when he was drinking around Abed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One day, not long after they moved to LA, Jeff flew into the bathroom in a panic and forgot to close the door all the way behind him. Abed walked in on him with a piece of glass in his hand, desperately cutting his left arm, which should have been proof enough he wasn’t thinking straight.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, Abed would have found out anyway, so who cares if he caught him in the act. He refused to talk, and got really good at changing the subject anytime Abed brought it up, and it wasn’t much later that Jeff woke up feeling better and everything was fine and he could put it all behind him. Again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’d still catch Abed staring at him sometimes, like there was something he wanted to say. He never seemed to figure out quite how to say it, though. </em>
</p><p><em> And there were just so many times when everything was fine. When Jeff was okay, or better than okay, when he wouldn't need it, wouldn't need any coping mechanisms at all. When he felt whole and good and new. When he had energy and drive. And every time he would think, </em>this is it. I'm better now. </p><p><em> And then the darkness would come again, and Jeff would recognize this version of himself while at the same time thinking, </em>I have never felt so bad, nothing has ever been this bad. Nothing will ever be better. </p><p>
  <em> This most recent time was different. This time he had the energy and the drive and the darkness, all at once. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It was a hellish combination. A nightmare.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>five: session. </b>
</p><p>That afternoon Abed visits Jeff again, and while he’s there the doctor sets up a session for Abed to meet with him and Jeff together the next day. Jeff seems uncomfortable, but he won’t talk about it. The doctor insists it’s important. Abed agrees to come.</p><p>For the second half of the visit, Annie and Troy come to say hi. Abed lets the three of them talk while he looks around at his surroundings, taking in the pale green color of the walls, the fake wood floor, the patients shuffling this way and that. Jeff finally has his own clothes on, but he’s wearing hospital socks and no shoes. All of his shoes have laces, and laces aren’t allowed.</p><p>He’s still hooked up to the IV, too. It makes Abed nervous, the way most medical things make him nervous, but he tries to remind himself that Jeff is getting better. That this is where Jeff needs to be, and he’s doing what he needs to be doing. That Jeff is safe here, in a way that he wasn’t safe with Abed.</p><p>In a way that he wasn’t safe with Abed.</p><p>In a way that he wasn’t safe with Abed.</p><p>Abed jumps up and finds a nurse to show him to the restroom. He splashes water on his face and tries to get himself together. Tries to remember that guilt isn’t going to help anything.</p><p>He gets back just in time to say goodbye to Jeff.</p><p>Annie and Troy tell Abed about their visit on the way home, and Abed tries to listen and pay attention. But he can’t stop thinking about the meeting tomorrow, and what they’re going to discuss. What if the doctor doesn’t think Abed is fit to take care of Jeff? What if he wants to know why Abed didn’t do more to help him? Why he didn’t ask more questions? Why he didn’t ask the <em> right </em>questions?</p><p>Abed knows he’s being crazy, but he can’t help it. He starts to hyperventilate in the back seat and puts his head between his knees. Troy leans over and rubs his back, helping him to ground himself. Abed feels something in his hand, and realizes Troy has put something in it. It’s one of those puzzle toys, two long nails twisted around each other. You’re supposed to separate them, but Abed just likes to play with it. He’s solved it tons of times before.</p><p>For a minute he focuses on the fact that even though they haven’t lived together in years, Troy still knows what Abed needs and is able to give it to him. He fiddles with the toy and takes deep breaths, and when they get home he goes straight to bed.</p><p>The next morning he wakes up way too early for the session, and he drives there alone. He sits in his car for 15 minutes until it’s time to go in, and then he takes a deep breath and enters the building.</p><p>He’s led to a simple office, a desk, a couch, and a couple of chairs. Jeff is already sitting on the couch, and Abed takes a seat next to him. The doctor sits down in a leather chair across from them and pulls out a tablet and a stylus.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Nadir,” the doctor says. “My name is Dr. Wright.”</p><p>“You can call me Abed,” Abed says. Jeff reaches for his hand and squeezes it.</p><p>“Abed,” Dr. Wright says. “I appreciate you coming. I wanted to speak with someone who’s close to Jeff, who observes him on a day to day basis. You’re his partner, correct? So you two spend a lot of time together?”</p><p>“Yes,” Abed says. “We live together. We’ve been dating for about three years. And we were friends before that, so we spent a lot of time together then, too.”</p><p>“Have you noticed any patterns in Jeff’s moods over the years, Abed?” Dr. Wright asks. “Depressed moods, elevated moods, anything like that?”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jeff rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Yes, I have,” Abed says. “Both of those. At various times, including right now. Except right now is a little different.”</p><p>“It’s not--” Jeff begins, but Abed cuts him off.</p><p>“It <em> is </em> different,” Abed says. “I’ve never seen you like this before, not when you were super down and depressed and not when you were weirdly happy. This is a new version of Jeff.”</p><p>Dr. Wright asks him some more questions about Jeff’s moods, and Abed describes everything he can remember. Jeff’s behaviors, the way he talks, the way sometimes he seems like a completely different person. The way he drinks. Jeff interrupts a few times, but Dr. Wright asks him to let Abed finish, and he does.</p><p>“Abed,” Dr. Wright says, when they’ve been speaking close to 40 minutes. “Do you know anything about bipolar disorder?”</p><p>“Not really,” Abed says. “Why? Does Jeff…?” He trails off when he sees the look on Jeff’s face.</p><p>“Jeff,” Dr. Wright says. “Do you want to say anything?”</p><p>They’ve clearly talked about this ahead of time, but Jeff still doesn’t look comfortable.</p><p>“I have bipolar disorder,” he says quietly, like he’s forcing the words out. “This is actually the third time I’ve been diagnosed with it.”</p><p>“That’s what you were medicated for before,” Abed puts together. “At Greendale.”</p><p>“Yes,” Jeff says.</p><p>“But you haven’t been taking medication,” Abed continues. “Right? Not for a long time?”</p><p>“Right,” Jeff says.</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” Abed whispers.</p><p>“Because I didn’t want it to be true.”</p><p>Abed really doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He just waits to see who will speak next, Jeff or the doctor.</p><p>It’s the doctor, and he explains to Abed that there are three types of episodes present in bipolar disorder: depressive, manic (or, in Jeff’s case, the less severe hypomanic), and mixed states. </p><p>When he describes the depressive episodes, Abed can clearly see Jeff spending days or weeks in bed, unable to do much at all, but insisting it’s the flu or exhaustion or something else. He can see Jeff crying into a bottle of booze, his face pale and drawn. He can see Jeff sitting on the couch in Abed’s dorm room, ready to live there forever, all of his ambition sucked dry.</p><p>When the doctor describes the hypomanic episodes, Abed pictures Jeff swinging an axe at the study room table or going crazy at a kid’s bar mitzvah, pictures him sleeping around and oozing confidence and spending hours at the gym. It’s a more pleasant Jeff than the depressed version of Jeff, but concerning nonetheless. Scary, even, sometimes.</p><p>The mixed state, though -- Abed knows immediately that that’s where they are now. The doctor calls them the most dangerous, because they combine the energy and anxiety of a manic episode with the sadness and despair of a depressive episode. Someone might be depressed enough to want to die, and have enough energy to actually carry out a plan.</p><p>“Someone might take a box of razor blades into the bathroom and lock the door,” Abed murmurs, and Jeff flinches.</p><p>Dr. Wright nods. “Jeff did mention that to me. I think he’s experiencing a mixed episode right now, and I think you did the right thing bringing him in.”</p><p>Abed’s eyes snap up to the doctor, and he can feel how wide they are. He didn’t come here looking for validation, but he’s received it anyway, and it’s a relief to hear someone -- a <em> medical professional </em>-- tell him that he did the right thing. That he didn’t overreact or underreact. That maybe this isn’t all his fault.</p><p>“I want to start Jeff on medication,” the doctor says. “To try to even his moods out and get him feeling better and safer. He’s agreed to try.”</p><p>“I’m glad,” Abed says, taking Jeff’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m really glad.”</p><p>The doctor spends the next twenty minutes or so going through the medications with Jeff and Abed, showing them information and graphs on his tablet, explaining the best way to start taking each one and what side effects to expect. Abed is impressed by how thorough he is.</p><p>Jeff doesn’t talk much. At the end of the visit, though, he hugs Abed close and says <em> thank you, </em> and Abed doesn’t say anything, just kisses him and ruffles his hair.</p><p>As he walks out the door, he promises to come back that evening for a visit.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>analepsis: ramp-up.</em> </b>
</p><p><em> He doesn’t notice it until he’s already </em> in it, <em> until things are already starting to get out of control.  </em></p><p><em> It’s a bunch of feelings he recognizes, all at once, and it creates a new kind of agitation that isn’t familiar at all, a kind of uncomfortable buzz underneath his skin telling him that nothing is okay, telling him, </em> it hurts, it’s bad, everything is bad. <em> Telling him, </em>move, move, move, move, move.</p><p>
  <em> He tries to drown it with alcohol first, but it only makes him more agitated. More angry. More mean. And he doesn’t want to be like that to Abed, so he defaults back to hurting himself, instead. It’s quieter, and it keeps him in control, and that makes him feel safer somehow. Safer when he’s literally destroying his own body, because Jeff Winger is nothing if not a mess of contradictions. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tries to pretend everything is fine. He keeps going to work, and tries to just tone down everything that he’s feeling, to just get through one day at a time. He cries in the bathroom between classes and occasionally he hurts himself, too, but that’s enough to keep him going. To get him through the next class, and then the next, until the day is finally over and he can go home and blow up at Abed, because that seems to be what he does now. </em>
</p><p><em> And he hears himself, the things he’s saying and the way he’s saying them, and he doesn’t want to be like this. He doesn’t want to hurt Abed. He loves Abed. But he says them anyway, and he hates himself the whole time, and every time it happens the voice in his head gets louder, the one that screams, </em>you deserve to die.</p><p>
  <em> He believes it. He’s always believed it, on some level. But it feels attainable now, like a real possibility. Like something he could do, and then this would all just be over, and then it wouldn’t hurt anymore. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t think Abed will notice when he takes the razor blades and scotch into the bathroom and locks the door. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He is wrong. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>six: montage.</b>
</p><p>After their meeting with the doctor, Jeff spends another two weeks in the hospital. When they’re over, Abed looks back at them like a montage. A montage of Jeff getting better, once they have a diagnosis and a plan.</p><p>On the first day, Jeff doesn’t feel any different, but he does finally get to lose the IV. Abed thinks he’s as glad as Jeff is about that one. Troy and Abed and Annie have a nice visit with him. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM, and they have a good talk.</p><p>On the second day, Abed has a work meeting to go to during visiting hours. He wants to skip the meeting, but Troy and Annie convince him to go, and promise they will visit Jeff in his place. They tell him they’d like a little more time with Jeff, anyway, and Abed isn’t sure if they’re just trying to convince him or not, but he finally agrees. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM, and it’s an extra good talk.</p><p>On the third day, Jeff is in a bad mood when Abed visits. They sit in silence for a while, and then Jeff brings Abed into the TV room, and M*A*S*H is on. Abed feels Jeff relax a little against him as they watch, and he kisses Abed for a long time before they say goodbye. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM, and they both wish Jeff could be somewhere a little more private for their conversation.</p><p>On the fourth day, they read magazines together at the visit, and then they talk a little bit about how Jeff is feeling (weird) and what Abed has been up to (not much). Abed brings Jeff cards from Britta, Shirley and Frankie.  That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM, and it feels like they’ve been apart forever. Abed tells Jeff exactly what he wishes they could be doing, and then Jeff hangs up to go take a cold shower.</p><p>On the fifth day, Abed tries to visit Jeff, but Jeff has a bad enough headache that he can’t get out of bed. Abed drives himself back home, and that night Jeff calls him at 9PM, and he sounds exhausted.</p><p>On the sixth day, Troy and Annie come to visit again. They’ve been mostly moral support for Abed up to this point, but they are both missing Jeff, too. Abed plays cards with Troy so Annie can have some time alone with Jeff, and then he watches TV with Annie while Troy visits with him. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM and reads Abed a love letter he wrote.</p><p>On the seventh day, Abed is shaky and tired, but he goes to visiting hours anyway. Jeff holds him and runs his hands through his hair and asks him if he’s eaten enough today. Abed thinks about it and then blushes, and Jeff scolds him, and on the way home he stops for a hamburger. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM and demands to talk to Troy and Annie. After, they tell Abed that Jeff made them promise to make sure Abed eats.</p><p>On the eighth day, they have a therapy session together, and then meet with the psychiatrist for an update. Abed appreciates being kept in the loop, and he really appreciates the therapy, which they intend to continue when Jeff gets out of the hospital. When Abed visits again in the evening, he brings pizza, and they eat together. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM and they reminisce about Greendale.</p><p>On the ninth day, Jeff has a bad day, and he doesn’t want to see anyone. Abed skips their visit and waits by the phone at 9PM to see if Jeff will call. He does, and he apologizes, and Abed tells him it’s okay.</p><p>On the tenth day, Annie flies back to DC, and Troy and Abed go straight to the hospital after they drop her off at the airport. It’s a nice visit, the three of them, and Troy promises to stay around for a while after Jeff comes home. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM and Abed reads  his own love letter to Jeff.</p><p>On the eleventh day, Jeff tells Abed he thinks the medication is working. He feels more like himself, and his head isn’t so foggy. Abed tries not to let Jeff hear him cry on the phone, but turns out not to matter when he goes to visit that evening and bursts into tears when he sees His Jeff in front of him looking whole and calm and like himself. He doesn’t really stop crying the whole time he’s there. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM and reads to him from <em> The Phantom Tollbooth. </em></p><p>On the twelfth day, they tell Jeff he can go home the day after tomorrow. Abed brings apple juice to the hospital to celebrate. When it comes time to go home, Jeff wraps his arms completely around Abed and squeezes him so tight he can barely breathe. Abed loves it. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM and they talk about the future.</p><p>On the thirteenth day, Jeff and Abed meet together with a therapist. She helps Jeff get set up with a schedule for private therapy, couples’ therapy, and 12-step meetings once he leaves the hospital. Abed is glad that all of these things are happening, and glad that Jeff isn’t fighting them. In the evening, Troy comes along to visit Jeff, and the three of them play cards. That night, Jeff calls Abed at 9PM, and it’s the last phone call.</p><p>On the fourteenth day, Jeff gets ready to go home.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>analepsis: climax.</em> </b>
</p><p><em> The Day It All Happens, Jeff wakes up shaking and can’t stop. He trips over his shoes in the living room and thinks, </em> I can’t do anything right. <em> He feels like he can’t breathe enough air, and the noise in his head is too loud, and every part of him just hurts. He hates himself. </em></p><p>
  <em> He bickers with Abed over breakfast, purposefully picking a fight for no reason except to make himself feel worse. It’s the weekend, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He wants to go back to bed, but he also feels restless, like he can’t sit still. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> As the day goes by, he gets more and more agitated. He starts drinking before noon, and by early afternoon he’s plastered. Abed has been out running errands for most of the day, leaving only after Jeff insisted he was going to be fine. Jeff isn’t going to be fine. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The razor blades Jeff bought the other day have been sitting on the kitchen table, exactly where he left them. He has an old fashioned razor for shaving, one that takes the double edged blades, and he thought keeping them out in the open would make their purchase less suspicious. Now, he takes them into the bathroom, leaves them on the counter. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He does end up falling asleep on the couch in the living room, and he wakes up when Abed gets home. Abed asks how he is and he can’t answer, he doesn’t know the answer, he doesn’t understand why Abed is asking him such a hard question. He just shakes his head. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Abed has brought home dinner, and they eat together in silence. Abed’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t speak, and Jeff doesn’t blame him. Every time Abed speaks, Jeff snaps at him. It’s not on purpose, but it’s guaranteed to happen again. He feels like a live wire, like he can’t help but spark anytime Abed says or does anything. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After dinner they fight, and Jeff doesn’t really know what they’re fighting about, can’t really follow the conversation. He starts drinking scotch straight from the bottle, and Abed says something about Jeff needing help, and Jeff snaps. He walks to the bathroom and locks himself in. Dumps out the razors on the counter and takes one. Sits down on the floor. He can’t think right. He stares straight ahead, rocks back and forth. He experiments with the blade, contemplates its potential. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff can tell the exact minute Abed realizes the box of razors is missing. Hears him run to the bathroom door and start pounding it. He begs Jeff to let him in. Yells. Cries. Threatens to call 911. Jeff can’t respond, he just sits there. He hurts himself. He wants to die. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He finishes the bottle of scotch, and tries to stand up. He stumbles, and then Abed starts kicking the door down, and it startles Jeff. He yells and drops the empty bottle on the ground, only half on purpose, and steps in the glass. When Abed bursts in, Jeff is standing there with bloody feet and no idea what’s even happening anymore. He lets Abed lead him to the car. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The hospital is all nurses and IVs and antiseptic and stitches. Jeff remembers random flashes of things -- yelling that he doesn’t need to be there. Trying to pull the IV out of his arm. Rattling the bed. Crying. Crying. Crying. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They’re there for hours, and nurses and doctors come and talk to him about inpatient treatment, about detox, and he ignores them. He shuts down. They tell him he has to wait for a spot to open up in the Behavioral Health Annex. It feels like forever. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When they move him to the annex, he says goodbye to Abed, and he cries some more. They move him to a bed in a dark room with other crazy people and some stupid fake documentary on TV, and the whole thing is surreal and scary. He misses Abed. He wants Abed. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> By the time they move him to the actual Behavioral Health Center, he doesn’t care about anything anymore. He gives up. He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He hates himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He hates himself. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>seven: home.</b>
</p><p>The day Jeff comes home, Abed cleans the whole apartment. It doesn’t take long. It was already clean, except his bathroom, which Troy and Annie put back together. So mostly he just Windexes the windows and fluffs a few pillows and empties the dishwasher. He adjusts the new calendar on the wall, the one with enough room to keep track of all of Jeff’s meetings and appointments.</p><p>Troy goes to the beach when Abed leaves to pick Jeff up. He wants to give them a real reunion, complete with an empty apartment to return to. Abed wants to tell Troy it’s fine, he doesn’t need to do that, but he doesn’t. He wants nothing more than to bring Jeff home and straight to their bed. Troy winks as he steps out the door and tells Abed to just call him when they’re ready for him to come back.</p><p>Abed doesn’t have to wait long when he gets to the hospital. Jeff has his stuff all ready to go, so he signs a few papers and then he’s set. He’s holding all of his stuff plus a thick packet of discharge information, for all of his outpatient treatment moving forward. Seeing it in Jeff’s hands makes Abed feel hopeful, like this is real.</p><p>They exit the unit and Jeff asks Abed where the nearest bathroom is. Abed shows him to the same bathroom he went into to calm down a few weeks ago, and Jeff pushes him up against the closed door and kisses him completely indecently. Abed lets himself melt against Jeff, thinking about how much he missed him. When they pull apart, they’re both breathing hard.</p><p>“If you can wait until we get home,” Abed says, “there’s an empty apartment, with a bed and everything.”</p><p>“Now I can wait,” Jeff says. “But I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for weeks and I couldn’t stand to put it off another second.”</p><p>Abed smiles and wraps an arm around Jeff’s waist. They walk to the car.</p><p>They talk about easy things on the way home, superficial things. Nothing important or difficult. When they finally get home, they practically run to the bedroom, and the sex is even better than Abed has been dreaming about, in bed alone after each of their 9PM phone calls. It’s good and real and familiar and safe and <em> hot. </em></p><p>After, naked in bed, they talk for real.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re home,” Abed says. “And I’m glad things will be different.”</p><p>He says it as a statement, but it’s really a question, and he’s depending on Jeff for a right answer. </p><p>He gives it.</p><p>“It’ll be completely different,” Jeff promises. “This time is different from the others. I… I think I’ve accepted it, finally.”</p><p>“I’m glad,” Abed says. “You deserve to feel good. To take care of yourself.”</p><p>Jeff nods. “It’s not always easy to remember that,” he says. “But I’m trying. And I have you to help me remember.”</p><p>“Me, and your therapists, and doctors, and meetings,” Abed says. Another question.</p><p>“My whole support system,” Jeff agrees. </p><p>“God, I love you so much,” Abed says, snuggling up into Jeff’s side.</p><p>“I love you too,” Jeff says. “I’m sorry about the things I said to you. The way I treated you. The, uh… The door, and everything.”</p><p>“We can move forward now, I think,” Abed says.</p><p>“Cool,” Jeff replies, grinning. </p><p>They say the second part together: “Cool cool cool.”</p><p>Abed lightly bumps Jeff on the head with a pillow, and Jeff kisses him on the forehead.</p><p>“Come on,” Abed says. “Let’s get dressed and call Troy.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>prolepsis: future.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> He keeps his promises. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jeff goes to his meetings and his therapy and his doctor’s appointments. He takes his medication. He does all the things he said he would do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He does it for himself, so he can be whole, and happy, and free. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sometimes, that’s not enough, and then he does it for Abed. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> A year later, they get a dog. Technically, it’s Jeff’s emotional support animal, but Feeny is support for both of them, named after one of the most encouraging characters imaginable. They dress him up in funny outfits and cuddle with him at night. He helps them stay on track. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Jeff keeps going. Sometimes for himself. Sometimes for Abed. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Two years later they get married, a courthouse wedding, and Feeny stands with them before the Justice of the Peace. All of their friends come for the ceremony, which is small and simple. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They wear matching suits and exchange classy rings. Afterwards, they all go out for chicken fingers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s a perfect day. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Jeff keeps going. Sometimes for himself. Sometimes for Abed. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Troy buys them a house, and it’s Pierce’s money, so they don’t complain. There’s a guest room, and Troy has his own room, too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Things are good. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Jeff keeps going. Sometimes for himself. Sometimes for Abed. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Three years later, they have twins. A boy and a girl. Michael and River. They are perfect, bouncing and giggling, and Feeny loves them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The study group spoils them rotten.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So do Jeff and Abed, to be perfectly honest. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Jeff keeps going. Sometimes for himself. Sometimes for Abed. Always for Michael and River. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The end.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>pro·lep·sis</b>
</p><p>/prōˈlepsəs/</p><p>
  <em> noun </em>
</p>
<ol>
<li>A literary device in which the plot goes ahead of time; meaning a scene that interrupts and takes the narrative forward in time from the current time in the story. <br/>
<br/>
</li>
<li>The opposite of a flashback, or “analepsis,” which reveals past events.</li>
</ol>
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